


In Darkness Dwells

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fate, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, comfort oral sex, psychological hurt, referenced/implied physical abuse, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:  Instead of Thomas, James is the one that ends up in Bethlem. Whether Thomas allows Alfred to use James as leverage against him or does something stupid and reckless to get him out or even goes to Nassau with Miranda instead is up to you, but some angst with a relatively happy ending would be nice.</p><p> </p><p>...Here 'tis. Hope you like it. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Darkness Dwells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



If he kept his eyes closed, it was easier.

Easier to imagine the feel of the sheets and pillows around him. He could smell them and also a particular scent he could never quite describe; it was the scent of warmth and goodness and vitality and all things Thomas.

Fingers would caress his bare arm, gently stirring him into wakefulness. He would moan and resist, a smile playing on his lips as Thomas drew up close to him and his touches tickled along his ribs…

James opened his eyes and met the black stare of the rat crawling across his cell, looking for crumbs. It would find none because James ate every last bit of the paltry food that was slid under his cell door.

The feel of sheets and pillows and Thomas evaporated as he struggled to sit up, muscles sore from the hard cot that served as a bed. There was a narrow slit in the cold stone wall high above him that indicated it was daytime outside. He had no conception of morning, afternoon, or evening.

He sat on the floor and looked at the portion of wall beside him. There were many groupings of lines etched into the cold slate stone, marking the passage of time. Below them lay a piece of flint. James stared at it but found he had no desire to use it today. He had not, in fact, marked the wall for the last five (or was it six?) days.

So many desires were failing him as of late. He wondered which might leave him today—the desire to wash, to eat, to give a shit about the rat that paused by the wall and sniffed the air? No, he still gave a shit about the rat. Moving like a man twice his age, he got to his feet and chased it back into the hole it had come from. As a sailor he was quite used to vermin aboard vessels, but they were always to be repelled. In this place, however, he felt as though rodents and people were considered to be of the same make.

They kept him and the other “guests” of Bethlam Royal Hospital in their cells most of the day. James was allowed outside in the inner courtyard once a day—assuming he was on good behavior. That assumption was often more of a decision depending what official was on duty that day. Some of them were halfway decent; others were cruel. He bore the marks of their cruelty on his arms and legs and back. Most of the sores and wounds would heal but some would scar. Many of his marks came because he had resisted their cruelty for the first few months of his captivity. He did not have it in him to submit; his rage at what had been done him, to them, had given him more than enough fuel to fight them back but it only ever ended with the same result.

Now, six months since his incarceration James felt that fuel nearly drained out of him. He was still angry, still furious even, but with each day bleeding into the next he could see little point in resisting anything anymore, because the indisputable fact that was the real element he’d been fighting against, he’d lost against. Alfred Hamilton had won.

James clenched his teeth together until they ached. For the hundredth time he imagined what he might do to the earl, the different ways he could make Thomas’s father suffer before delivering the final blow. The earl was not a fighting man; if the opportunity ever presented itself James could take him down without much effort. His mind played through the different scenarios and all the blood that would be spilt. At first he was disgusted with himself at such dark thoughts and he had pushed them away. It was difficult enough just to focus on making it through another day in this place. But with each passing week and month James let himself slide ever so slightly into that space inside his head.

Now, he felt his lips curl up into a grin at the thought of what he might do to Alfred Hamilton, how to make him suffer physically all the mental torments he himself had gone through since that goddamn day his life had ended.

James closed his eyes, remembering everything so vividly...

***

“You are summarily discharged from service. No charges will be drawn against you provided you submit yourself into the care of Bethlam Royal Hospital immediately and are neither seen nor heard from again. If you fail to comply with this offer, the charges brought against you will be swift and unyielding...”

He stopped listening to the admiral’s words. They became a dull wall of sound behind the wall of shock that crashed into him. The things he was saying, the words he was using. Vile? Loathsome? He and Thomas?

James felt the world closing in around him at a startling rate so that his chest tightened and he grew short of breath. He felt paralyzed, rooted to the spot in the small and cramped room with the earl looking at him as though he were a rodent to be exterminated. And for one small moment, perhaps only a few seconds, that look of pure disgust went straight through James and made him feel ashamed. As Admiral Hennessy ticked off the rest of his threats, it was that thought that brought James back to his senses so that he glared at Alfred Hamilton with a newborn feeling he had never possessed towards another human being before: Hate, of the purest form.

Alfred Hamilton, who still sat calmly in his seat as though the world owed him everything.

“You will be cared for by the staff of the hospital,” said the earl, “And my son will not be allowed anywhere near that place or you for as long as you reside there. Is that perfectly clear, lieutenant? Lieutenant?”

James struggled to speak. He swallowed and found that he could still move if he tried. When he took a step towards Hamilton, Hennessy took a step towards him.

“I will fight this,” said James between clenched teeth. “Somehow I will contact Thomas and we will fight this, fight you, you bastard.”

The earl made a sound of disgust and waved his hand.

“Get him out of my sight.”

“Sir.”

Hennessy wrapped a tight hand around James’s arm and tugged him towards the door.

“Please James, I beg you, do no fight this,” he muttered under his breath.

James shot the admiral a look.

Hennessy stopped once they were outside the room, the wide and open chambers of just one of Whitehall’s many facets all around them. James shook himself loose, his eyes alighting on the two armed guards who discreetly approached them. He looked at his superior in awe.

“How could you?”

Hennessy blinked and gave James a pained look and sighed.

“I had no choice. Please forgive me. Guards?”

The two men approached James and stood very close on either side of him, quite aware of the hubbub of people around them. James nearly sneered at it, the way they didn’t want to cause a disturbance. He was seething, boiling just beneath the surface, but to fight them here and now would do no good so he allowed himself to be escorted out of the building and into a waiting carriage. He sneered at that, too. The ruination of his life had been so perfectly planned out...

***

James blinked himself back into the reality of his cell. Even in that memory there had at least been a view and fresh air, vile though the memory was. He was deprived even of those things now. He could have tolerated that, along with the lack of fresh food and water and warm clothes and another soul to talk to. He could have tolerated it all and more if he had been with Thomas. He certainly did not want Thomas in this hell with him, but if only he was here, if James didn’t feel as though his soul had been agonizingly ripped out of him, bit by bit, as he traveled down the road in that damned carriage to this place.

He was tired of weeping but still he tried. He wondered if a person could run out of tears if they wept often enough. He should not think about Thomas. That was the only way to stop his own fucking sobs but he could not. He further tortured himself wondering what Thomas and Miranda’s reactions must have been upon hearing the news of his incarceration. Mostly he wondered if the earl had not also done something to his son and daughter-in-law as punishment. Something told him that was not the case, because Alfred Hamilton sought to keep the title of his family name above anything; James’s stay at Bethlam insured that his son’s dirty secret would never stain either of them, unless of course Thomas did something about it.

Was that all he and Thomas had been, a dirty secret?

No. Those were the earl’s hateful words trying to get to him. Jesus, how he hated the man. Once again James fell to plotting his demise, taking comfort in his dark fantasies. Perhaps they would be the only comfort he would ever know again.

\-----------------------------

“I need to speak with you father. It’s urgent.”

Alfred Hamilton dropped the quill in his hand onto the piece of parchment before him. He looked up at his son with nothing short of pure agitation. Around the earl several servants and colleagues also looked up at Thomas, then back to the earl. Thomas eyed each of them in turn, face set in grim determination.

The earl let out an audible sigh and shooed away the servants, then apologized to his friends, who also cleared the room. Even before they were all gone Thomas glared at his father, unabashed. Alfred frowned at him. Once they were alone Thomas closed the heavy double doors to his father’s study and approached his desk.

“I just thought you should know,” said Thomas. “I made more appeals to Bethlam this month and I also managed to persuade two of your contacts in the court system—a Mr. Biles and Mr. Fitzer—to look into the idea of sending in officials to monitor the living conditions of the hospital…”

The earl rose out of his seat, slamming a fist down on the desk top.

“Damn you, Thomas, I have had enough of this! This marks the sixth time in as many months you’ve rallied yourself against me.”

Thomas didn’t flinch but continued on, in a louder voice, “And I intend to approach the royal navy, going around Admiral Hennessy of course, and very soon, in order to—”  
Alfred cut a hand through the air. “Enough! I don’t want to hear about anymore of your meddling!”

Undaunted by his father’s indignation, Thomas continued.

“…In order to persuade those who knew James best to appeal on his behalf. And you will listen to me because I am here to tell you I am not giving up, no matter how much money you throw at Miranda and I…”

“And that damned woman,” boomed Alfred, coming from around the desk to face his son. He waved an angry finger at him.

“If the two of you do not stop this useless scheming to free that…that…”

Thomas felt a surge of fury flow through his veins; he’d had enough of his father’s insults and didn’t give a damn anymore. He stepped up to Alfred, fists clenched.

“Call him one more vile name and I swear to God I will hit you.”

Alfred’s eyes widened slightly. He looked at Thomas up and down.

“You’re mad. If you do not calm down this instant I may consider throwing you in that place as well. Really, Thomas.”

Thomas sucked in a breath and held it, willing himself to back away. He had never been a violent man by nature. The only time in his life he had ever been in an altercation was with a fellow schoolmate when he’d been an adolescent. His anger had been stoked when the boy had accused Thomas of stealing his noontime meal day after day when in fact it was another boy. Thomas discovered then he did not like being called a liar and the two had exchanged punches.

Now, he wanted so very badly to do the same to his father. What he had felt against that boy so long ago paled in comparison to the rage he felt now. If this was to be his ruination, then so be it. He would never be able to live with himself if he stopped fighting for James.

Alfred straightened himself, hands clasped behind his back and stared through his nose at his son. Thomas unclenched his fists after another terse moment.

“How much,” he asked in a low voice.

“Excuse me?”

“How. Much. What will it take for you to have him released? My entire account? Take it.”

Alfred closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Jesus, Thomas. Don’t be so dense. If I wanted your money I could take it from you whenever I wanted and for whatever reason. You know that.”

“What then? What else would it take? For me to leave London? The whole country?”

Alfred looked at him more closely. He was clearly disturbed by what he saw. Thomas could imagine it; he was glaring at his father through his brows and throwing as much of the hatred he felt into his gaze as was possible. He hadn’t realized he’d clenched his fists again until they started to ache.

“You’re serious,” said Alfred.

It was half a question, half a statement. His father stared at him, dumbfounded.

“I am,” said Thomas. “You want this family’s name in perfect standing. I know I still threaten that. So if you want me gone, then I’ll go.”

There. He’d said it. When Alfred didn’t respond immediately Thomas knew he’d hit the nail on the head. It was all he had left to play with; to offer up his own name and everything that came with it, to forfeit his life as he knew it.

“You would walk away from your family? From your properties, your holdings, from everything…for him?”

His father’s complete lack of comprehension seemed to grow with each word he spoke. Thomas nodded slowly.

“Yes. I would.”

“What the fuck for?”

Thomas could not hold himself in check any longer. Why, why could his father not understand?

“Because I love him, father! I have tried to tell you that, but you won’t listen! Can’t you understand that? Love? If you’ve ever loved anyone in your whole fucking life--me, mother, anyone-- how can you not comprehend it?”

He was yelling, his voice shrill as it tore through the space around them in the study. His father spoke just as loudly at him.

“And I have told you before, it is not possible for a man to love another man. No, I cannot understand it; it isn’t even conceivable to me! That’s it. I want you out of my house now, and out of your house by the end of the week. Take your fucking wife and your sodomite lover and be gone. I renounce all ties I have to you. Everything that you own will be mine…”

Thomas smiled bitterly.

“Thank you father,” he said calmly. He suffered through more of the earl’s ranting as he drew up two letters. Then Thomas turned on his heel and left his father ranting behind him, no longer paying attention to the words. He walked out of the room and slammed the doors behind him.

\----------------------------

“You there.”

James startled awake at the rough voice. He had fallen asleep again. He glanced at the slit in the wall. All dark. Night, then. He turned towards the pair of eyes and bridge of nose that filled the rectangular opening on his door.

“Warden says you’re to be released early in the morning,” the rough voice said.

James blinked, at first not fully certain what he was hearing. When the full force of the words struck him he leapt to his feet and to the door, peering at the unknown face from the other side.

“Why?” he demanded. “On whose authority?”

“Don’t know. Just know it’s to be in the morning. Good night.”

And before he could ask anything more the slit was slid shut on him, its clang echoing in the lonely space around him.

His heart was racing. What could this mean? He was too hesitant to fully believe it was good news. More than likely Alfred Hamilton had devised some new torture for him. He knew there were still places in England similar to Bethlam only worse; remnants left over from medieval times whose fancy titles concealed the true torture chambers for those unlucky enough to find themselves behind such walls. If he so wished, the earl could move him to one of those places. Or perhaps the expenses of keeping him here had become a burden, and he was to be hanged after all?

Dimly, in some small part of him that still recognized what it was to hope he considered that Thomas and Miranda had found a way to get him out. But no.

James slid down against the door, feeling despair roll over him all at once. It crushed him down and tore cruelly at his heartstrings. How could Thomas ever override his father’s dominance over him? James did not see how it was possible.

\------------------------

When Thomas arrived home again he carried two letters, each written with the earl’s own script. He scarcely took time remove his boots or let a servant take his coat and hat from him.

“Where’s Lady Hamilton?” he demanded.

The servant bowed and nodded quickly.

“She is in the drawing room, entertaining guests, sir…”

“Thank you.”

Thomas hurried across the foyer and into the drawing room. Miranda was there, sitting with two other women. Thomas was relieved when she looked up and read the urgency in his expression. She rose abruptly and put on a smiling face for her guests.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I need a moment with my husband.”

Miranda followed him around the corner and down a more private section of hallway.

“What is it?” she asked immediately.

Thomas held out the two sealed letters and met her gaze evenly, trying not to boil over with excitement.

“One of these is to the judge who sentenced James, and the other is addressed to the warden of Bethlam. Upon the earl’s word James is to be released first thing tomorrow.”

Miranda’s bosom swelled, lips parted. She looked at Thomas and then the letters, raising a hand to her throat and calming herself.

“Under what conditions?”

Thomas averted his gaze, taking a deep breath before replying.

“Under the condition that you and I abandon the name Hamilton and everything that comes with it. This house, our possessions, my standing. Everything. It was the only way to secure his freedom. Miranda...”

Thomas placed his hands over her shoulders, unsure of what her reaction would be. Miranda looked away and closed her eyes. When she opened them he thought her eyes were clearer, more focused.

“Then that is what we shall do. We will figure out everything else later.”

He sighed and smiled weakly at her, too overwhelmed to do anything more. Miranda wrapped her arms around him tightly and Thomas sighed again into the comfort she always provided, but he could not yet let his apprehension go entirely, not until he saw James. Not until it was done.

\----------------------------

He slept fitfully that night. The news of his release had disturbed him. In truth he didn’t know what to feel. The thought of being free of Bethlam filled him with nearly forgotten joy—to see the sky again and the streets and all of London, wide open and spacious again—it made tears trickle down his cheeks despite himself. Even if he was only being transferred to a worse fate, at least he might have one last look around him, at England…

James let out a huff and turned on his stiff cot. Fuck England. The longer he had remained here the more he had time to think more deeply about his predicament. It was Thomas’s father and Hennessy who were the main culprits, that was true. But they worked for the government, for the system in which he had spent his whole life striving to be a part of. It was the same system he and Thomas and Miranda had worked for to build a better Nassau.

Now that system was his enemy, as far as he was concerned.

Black and bitter bile rose to the back of his always-parched throat. He wiped at his tears and calmed himself and tortured himself some more with thoughts of the Hamilton household and the only two people he gave a damn about anymore.

When the slit high above him told him it was daybreak his eyes stayed open. He had dozed in and out of sleep most of the night. He sat up stiffly and went through his routine of staring at the piece of flint, then chasing away the rat, who had brought a friend with it this time. Then came his first meal, slid through the door. It was a piece of cornbread (only slightly moldy this time), and a piece of tough meat that could have been beef or pork or ham. It all tasted the same. He ate it all and drank the cup of water provided. When the official returned to take his plate, he unlocked James’s door this time and stepped inside.

“You’re to be released soon. I’m ordered to give you an extra ration of water and soap.”

The man gruffly sat down a full bowl of water, a bar of soap and a rag on James’s cot, looking as though he disliked the idea of having clean guests in his cells. James nodded weakly at him. The same as rats, indeed.

James eagerly took up the bar of soap and rag. For the first time in months he felt a surge of energy and excitement. Dear God, could it be Thomas coming for him? He could think of no one else who would see to it he was provided with even this much of a kindness; he had no close relatives that he could think of who would even know of his incarceration.

He washed as best he could, knowing he was still filthy but at least the most visible of the dirt and grime were gone from his face and hands. Then he took to pacing in his cell when no further word came and the morning wore on. His mind began turning on him and he wondered if all of it had been some cruel trick to further break him when he heard several loud voices echoing down the corridor.

James approached his cell door and tried to listen. He recognized one of the guard’s voices and an official’s, but there was a third voice. His heart skipped a beat. Heavy boots thudded louder. James struggled to make out what was being said. By the time he knew they were at his door the conversation had stopped.

“Here we are,” said the official who had given him his provisions.

James swallowed and backed up, suddenly nervous. The door swung open. The official gave a quick jerk of his head for James to come out. James found his legs to be like thick syrup. He felt some irrational dread, that this was a trick, and if he left his cell everything would be worse…

James came out and hesitantly looked down the corridor. There, only a few feet away and striding towards him, was Thomas. James’s breath caught in his throat. As soon as Thomas’s eyes met his Thomas’s lips parted. He seemed to visibly pale. He looked as though was close to running towards James.

James felt everything tilt. His legs threatened to buckle under him. He fought it, unable to move or speak or to do anything except stare at the yellow-haired vision rapidly approaching him.

“James,” it spoke, a harrowed look on its face.

James dropped to his knees and Thomas jolted forward to catch him by the arm.

“Come on, up on your feet,” the official grunted out, nudging him hard in the back.

“Do not fucking touch him,” Thomas snapped. “He is no longer under your supervision.”

Thomas’s voice sounded far away. James didn’t hear the harsh retort the official gave. He tried hard to stay focused on Thomas’s face as Thomas helped him to his feet. Wide, liquid blue eyes searched his face.

“Jesus, what have they done to you?”

\-----

Thomas raised a hand to James’s face, nearly in shock over his condition. Aside from being physically weakened, James was filthy. His hair loose and wild around his shoulders and his beard was like a wild bush. His eyes were red-rimmed and he wore only a pair of torn and ripped trousers, with no shirt or footwear.

And he was looking at Thomas as though he were a ghost.

Quite aware that he was being watched with more than a little disdain (his father’s doing, no doubt), Thomas righted James as best he could and the two of them walked back down the corridor, assisted by a guard, until they reached the front gates of Bethlam. James gripped onto Thomas tighter as they left the massive, dungeon-like building and the guard left them. Thomas kept glancing over at him, trying to assess if he was injured. The red marks and welts that bore the unmistakable sign of a whip sent a silent rage rippling through him. He bit his tongue to keep from commenting on them. When they made it outside and walked the long and winding path towards the front entrance James immediately winced and shielded his eyes. It took a minute for Thomas to realize that he was shielding them from the sun. He paused and took off his hat and put it on James. James gingerly reached up and touched it as though to confirm its existence. Thomas softly reassured him and they continued on their way.

By the time they had made it to the front gates a heavy dose of fear had crept up into him. James was not himself and he was forced to wonder how badly he had been damaged.

On the other side of the gates a carriage awaited them. Thomas stopped them just in front of a large bush, hidden from the carriage’s view. He gently gripped James by the tops of his bare arms.

“James, look at me.”

James’s eyes snapped up, quite alert, which gave him a small sense of relief. Thomas sucked in a breath.

“James, Miranda is in that carriage just past those gates.”

James’s eyes snapped towards the gates, then back to Thomas.

“James, before we get inside and she sees you, I need to know…”

Thomas licked his lips, struggling to find the right words. How the fuck was he supposed to ask if James was still sane?

“I need to know if you’re able to…”

James tried to speak but his throat was clogged. He cleared it as though he had not spoken in ages. Thomas’s chest tightened. He had never expected all this. His father would pay dearly.

“I’m fine,” James said in a gravel voice. He swallowed and met Thomas’s gaze.

“I’m not fine,” he corrected slowly, “But I’m…I just want to get the hell out of here. Please, Thomas.”

He words were achingly like begging to Thomas’s ears. Thomas choked down a sob as James reached up and squeezed his hand that was still planted on his arm. Thomas fought and fought against it but a tear still spilled down his cheek. He pulled James into a tight embrace, digging his fingers through his greasy hair and not giving a damn who saw.

“God dammit,” he said through clenched teeth. He was surprised when James reciprocated the hug, weakly at first, then he clung to Thomas fiercely. When Thomas tried to pull back James would not let go. He made a desperate sound in the back of his throat. Thomas set his jaw and gently but firmly pushed James back so he could look at him again.

“Come,” he said softly. “Just another moment and you’ll be in the carriage.”

“Where…”

James cleared his throat again.

“Where are we going?”

More relief replaced Thomas’s fear. Though James didn’t quite sound like himself, at least it was evident his mind was fully intact.

“Home. Such as it is for just a few more days,” he replied.

James threw him a confused look and Thomas just shook his head, pulling him towards the gates and the carriage.

\-------

It took some effort for James to climb into the carriage. Though only two feet off the ground his leg muscles ached with the movement, as did his arms when he struggled to pull himself into it. He was even weaker than he’d thought.

He collapsed into the soft velvet cushions. Thomas was right behind him, climbing in and sitting across from him. The driver had scarcely closed the door on them when Miranda made a noise beside him. James turned towards her. Miranda’s hand covered her mouth. What a fucking sight he must have been. He knew he probably stank as well. He had experienced poor conditions on board ships before, but nothing quite as severe as this. He averted his eyes from her and wished he could curl up into a ball.

A moment later he felt Miranda’s soft gloved hands on him, pulling him close and wrapping a hand around the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. James reluctantly met her gaze and tried to speak.

“I must be a sight. I’m sorry…”

“Shhh.”

Miranda bent forward and pressed her lips to his very gently. James felt his heart ache in his chest as dormant feelings re-emerged in him, of how much he loved and was loved. Of course Miranda and Thomas didn’t give a damn about his appearance.

James tried his best to thank her with his eyes, intertwining her fingers through his own and leaning back in the carriage. He looked over at Thomas, who was watching him with that harrowed look still, full of pain. James badly wanted to go to him and hold him. He wanted to kiss his lips and touch his face and feel the familiar wool of his coat and softness of his undershirt but he was too weak and too uncertain to do any of it. So instead he repeated his words from earlier, trying to remember a smile, “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

\-------------------------

Once they were home Miranda immediately took James to a wash tub while Thomas went about finding servants to pick up some of James’s clothes from his flat.

The wash tub was on the second floor of the Hamilton’s expansive estate, and James had to pause twice climbing the stairs to catch his breath. He muttered curses both times, angry at himself for his weakness. Yet Miranda was incredibly patient with him and offered only encouragement, pausing with him despite his insistence she could go on without him.

Once behind closed doors she ordered him out of the ragged pair of pants he wore while she poured buckets of warm water into the wooden basin. James gingerly stepped into the tub once it was ready and painstakingly stretched out in it. As soon as the warm liquid covered him up to his midsection he closed his eyes and sighed. It felt so fucking good he could have wept. When he looked at Miranda she smiled at him, but the worry lines on her forehead betrayed the smile. She sat on a stool beside him, watching him as though he were fragile and might break any moment. She began scrubbing gently at him with a wash cloth.

“I can at least manage this on my own,” James said, voice still rough.

“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.”

She shooed away his attempts at taking the cloth and soap from her. James watched her. She was certainly a sight for his very sore eyes, as radiant as ever, even with the worry lines she wore for him. She avoided looking directly at him until James wrapped a hand around her own, stilling her scrubbing. When her dark hazel eyes drifted up to his, he asked simply, “How?”

He did not need to elaborate on his meaning. Miranda sat back on the stool, dropping the cloth into a bucket.

“When we received word of what had had happened,” she began, “Thomas immediately went to his father, as you can imagine. Of course he wouldn’t listen to reason, but Thomas and I both decided that persistence was our strongest weapon against him. Thomas harassed the earl each month of your incarceration, threatening that his own associations and influences with Parliament and the courts would begin to do the earl damage if he didn’t release you.”

James shifted in the tub, sitting up straighter. Yes, that was what he had more or less imagined. He stared at the soap-saturated water and waited for her to continue.

“Then finally, two days ago Thomas visited him again. I admit at this point I became more than a little concerned for him; you know of his father’s cruelty. He could have done a number of things against Thomas. But Thomas visited him regardless, as I knew he would. And this time Thomas’s persistence won. He promised his father he would leave and abandon everything under the name Hamilton to him.”

James’s eyes snapped up to her, brows furrowing.

“What?”

Miranda sighed and tried to smile.

“Yes. Everything, including this house and most everything in it. And of course Thomas’s finances. All of it is Alfred’s once more. We’ve been given until the end of the week to vacate the house and leave London.”

Shock quickly gave way to frustration, offering some much-needed clarity to his mind.

“That was foolish,” he said. “His father could have destroyed both of you.”

“Did you expect anything less?” Miranda countered, her gaze steadfast when James looked at her. He managed a weak smile but it quickly faded. He found he could not agree with her and call it the truth.

“I didn’t know what to think,” he said. “For all I knew Alfred had Thomas locked up as well, and you out on the streets. So many horrible outcomes to our actions plagued me in that place. I thought…I…”

James faltered. God, was he really going to tell Miranda that he had lost faith so quickly? That he had spent the majority of his time in Bethlam in complete and utter despair?

Even as he thought on it everything began to ache again and he felt unbelievably tired.

“I lost myself,” he said at last, sinking against the tub’s headboard. He found he was no longer capable of throwing up a veneer to conceal his feelings, and he looked at her with what he knew was some pathetic look that probably cried, ‘Pity me; I’m so helpless.’

Miranda, of course, offered him her most tender words and soft lips above his brow. Physically it felt wonderful, but none of it penetrated any deeper.

“You need time,” said Miranda. “And as I know of your impatience with certain things, I don’t expect your recovery to come easily. But Thomas and I will help you through it.”

“How?” he asked, at a loss. “From what you’ve just told me, we will be homeless in a few days.”

“There’s plenty of places we can stay until we find a more permanent solution,” she said patiently. James frowned. He knew he had sounded extra harsh but he couldn’t help it. He wondered if he had been taken out of one hell only to be thrown into another, and what was worse, Thomas and Miranda would now suffer with him.

\------------------------

In the following days Miranda was able to secure her own money that an aunt had left after her passing, and Thomas had wasted no time in gathering a stash of silver he kept safely locked away in the master bedroom. James had little to throw in the pot; the income of a naval officer, even a lieutenant was moderate at best. Yet somehow between the three of them they had enough currency to rent rooms for roughly a week and a half.

It took most of that time for James to fully recover. He was still thinner than he had been and suffered from long brooding spells which he had difficulty breaking free from. He was quite aware of the Hamiltons’ ongoing concern over him, yet he could not dispel what Bethlam had done to him. Frustrated, he’d lashed out over his own inability to cope, to regain some control over his thoughts and actions. Thomas told him time and again it would all take time, but James doubted him. Never in his life had he ever been vulnerable to such dark moods for an extended time.

In his darkest moments, often lying awake in bed, he wondered obsessively if Thomas and Miranda truly believed he would be all right, that perhaps he’d left a part of himself in that cell and something had emerged.

Of the two of them, it was easier to deal with Miranda. When he had fallen into one of his moods she was usually able to bring him out of it with a playful or sarcastic comment, a saucy smile, or the suggestion he read to her from the small collection of books they had discreetly spirited away with them from the house. He was grateful to her for it, but the most he could ever show it was in a caress of her cheek or a chaste kiss. He knew he was not quite in the right place for anything more intimate, and they both seemed satisfied with that for the time being.

Thomas, however, was more difficult, and the distance between the two of them made James’s heart ache.

Thomas had done his best to put on airs around James, but he was less successful at hiding his worry, and the same haunted look he had worn ever since he had first seen James come out of his cell continued to plague his handsome face. Aggravated, James had snapped at him one day because of it, then quickly apologized. Yet the incident only served to put more space between them when all James desired was for the gap to close.

He knew he they were rapidly running out of resources and would have to leave the inn soon and the pressure from that only added to his desperation. He needed to talk to Thomas, as bluntly as he could.

By some miracle they had managed to persuade the owner of the inn to allow them to stay an extra few days. The owner, as it turned out, remembered Thomas’s purse well from when he had given his son some silver coins several months ago. Evidently the money had been badly needed and so the owner was now happy to lend a hand in return.

James could only marvel at his lover. How on earth did such a man love him?

With that thought giving him some renewed determination James waited late one afternoon when Miranda had gone to take a nap in the room’s only bedroom to approach Thomas.

The soon-to-be ex-lord was hunched over a small writing desk, scribbling away furiously by a snub of a candle. James knew he was trying to record everything he was losing to the earl as well as an estimated cost of his losses. James watched him from behind for a moment. He was not the only one with lots on his mind; he could only imagine what Thomas must be feeling at this moment.

“Thomas.”

“Hmm?”

Thomas scribbled something else down before setting the quill in its ink pot and turning somewhat distractedly to James. James wanted his full attention, however, so he came up to the desk and offered Thomas his hand.

“Come here,” he said softly.

Thomas looked from his outstretched palm up to James’s face. He accepted the hand, albeit hesitantly, and rose out of the chair.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We need to talk.”

The pair of sapphire eyes focused on him. Thomas took a deep breath.

“Yes, we do.”

They went over to the room’s single divan and sat down. James leaned forward and rested his arms over his legs, staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “For being so intolerable as of late.”

“James, you are going through something…”

“Let me finish, please,” James interrupted.

Thomas quieted, leaning back and crossing an ankle over his leg. He began twisting the gold signet ring on his little finger.

“I have been going through a lot these past weeks,” James confessed. He swallowed, wanting to squirm but he restrained himself. He was never good with expressing himself, even to Thomas. Still, he tried.

“When I first laid eyes on you after all those months, I was certain I was either dreaming or hallucinating, so much so that when I finally sat in that carriage with you and Miranda and realized you were both real, I nearly lost all composure. I was so fucking grateful…”

James broke off. Damnation. The pain of being deprived of the two of them resurfaced in him with a vengeance as though he were still experiencing it. Would he ever get over this?

Thomas waited, eyes more patient than they had been, though that harrowed look had returned. James tried to ignore it. Christ, he must have still seemed so lost to Thomas. He rubbed at his forehead and continued.

“I was so grateful for you, the two of you, but also angry. Insanely angry. I had felt the same for weeks after I had arrived there; angry at your father, at Hennessy, at those who supported him, at the world. But it was seeing you with that look on your face, the one you are carrying now—”

Thomas stopped fidgeting with his ring and sat up.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it upsets you but I cannot help it.”

“That look is what put me over,” said James. “Over the edge, over some small piece of my sanity; I don’t know how to properly convey it. But in the following days after we arrived home, I felt it growing, this hatred. And I haven’t been able to shake it since. It ‘s why I’ve been avoiding you. And I’m sorry.”

They were nearly shoulder to shoulder now. For the hundredth time James imagined leaning in and simply touching Thomas’s soft face and lips. Thomas was studying him, lips slightly parted.

“James,” he said in the voice that meant he was about to become entirely too insightful. “What is it you’re really trying to say?”

James trailed his eyes over Thomas’s form, all the way down to his bare feet.

“I’m not the same person I was when I went into that place,” he said in a low voice, feeling almost ashamed at what he perceived to be his own weakness.

He startled when Thomas’s warm palm touched his cheek, fingers pulling his chin level with Thomas’s soft expression. The harrowed look was gone—thank God—and instead the look Thomas gave him made James go completely soft inside—even as a quite different feeling struck his groin.

“Whatever darkness it is that you are concerned about, you mustn’t let it overtake you. I know you, you are a man of quick and intense passions. I’ve felt this darkness too; hatred against my father and what he’s done to you. I could nearly kill him for it.”

James’s eyes snapped up sharply at his words. It surprised him, hearing such a sentiment from Thomas. Thomas only nodded grimly.

“Yes, I mean that. I’ve spent these past six months in my own fury, I suppose. I had grown so used to it that I am also to blame for pushing away from you as much as you did from me.”

Thomas’s hand was still on his face, thumb gently rubbing beside James’s ear and over his sideburn. Enough was enough.

James leaned in, staring at Thomas’s lips, and to his great relief Thomas accepted his offer. Their lips met, soft and chaste at first, and James nearly melted in the contact. He shifted on the divan until his thighs were against Thomas’s and Thomas deepened the kiss.

James sighed into him, shoulders relaxing and heat fluttering pleasantly. He could easily spend the rest of the night just like this, kissing Thomas, and it would have made him the happiest person on the planet.

But his groin was responding with a much more lustful need. He tried to ignore it, to just enjoy the purity of the moment, but when he let an unbidden whimper escape his throat Thomas broke away long enough to glance down at his lap.

James swallowed. His breath was already heavy, and a familiar tingle spread through his chest, yet at the same time he felt completely unprepared.

Thomas’s hand found his erection. He massaged it through the fabric of James’s breeches and James moaned. A sharp sexual pang shot through him at the touch and he hooked a hand around the nape of Thomas’s neck and pulled him into a hungry kiss. He spread his legs so Thomas could touch more. Thomas shifted towards him, hand fondling and squeezing at his genitals. James let him, even though his mind was shrinking away from the idea of making love. There was the new, dark thing in him that made him doubt Thomas’s words of comfort; he knew there was no way Thomas could feel such it, despite his words to the contrary.

Thomas had said he could have nearly killed Alfred Hamilton. Nearly. James knew he would kill him.

The absolute certainty with which the thought had first snuck into his mind had left no room for doubt. James had, quite literally, spent so long in fantasizing about the earl’s death that even now, here in bliss with his lover, James was resolved to the act.

And along with his certainty came a flood of guilt and shame over the thought. The two opposing forces pulled at him furiously, until with a small noise he broke away from Thomas and stilled the hand between his legs.

His heart was racing and he was panting. He shut his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I cannot.”

“What is it, James?”

James opened his eyes, staring straight ahead as he tried to collect himself. Thomas had not moved, worry lines over his forehead again.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “I want you, very badly, in this moment.”

James turned to look at him, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. It took him a moment to realize his right hand was clutching to a tiny portion of Thomas’s pants leg. He released it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, shooting up off the cushions. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

Thomas immediately rose with him, taking him by the arm and turning James towards him.

“You know I would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do,” he said evenly.

The frustration in James mounted.

“I know,” James said. “I know. That’s not it. Perhaps I should just go to bed.”

There was a beat of silence between them in which James made no attempt to leave and neither did Thomas. Then, very slowly, Thomas resumed his massaging of James’s crotch, stepping up close to him so that their lips nearly touched. James moaned again, hands coming up to clutch at Thomas’s waist. Christ, how he wanted this, wanted Thomas to just keep touching him…

“Let me taste you?”

James raised his eyes. It was most certainly a question, not a demand. Thomas’s eyes were inquiring. James’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. Yes, perhaps that would work better.

He nodded quickly, adding a “Yes, please,” in a breathless whisper.

Thomas smoothly knelt down and unfastened James’s breeches, sliding them down his legs. James allowed himself to be positioned against the tall and wide arm of the divan, his buttocks against its plush fabric. He laid his hands over Thomas’s shoulders. Thomas went down on his knees and looked up at him, still asking. James felt his mouth go dry and his cock harden more. He squeezed Thomas’s shoulders in response.

Thomas took hold of the base of his cock and put his mouth over the tip. Even that small sensation was enough to send jolts of liquid heat through James after being so long deprived of touch. His breath stuttered as Thomas licked and sucked at his tip, thoroughly making it wet and slick. James shuddered, leaning into the arm of the divan.

Thomas gently funneled his shaft with his hand, pulling along James’s thickness with the same rhythm at which he sucked on his cock. Fuck, but it felt incredible, and Thomas had not even taken him down yet.

James encouraged him, raising a hand and gently nudging the back of Thomas’s head. Thomas complied, moving his lips further down his cock, until his erection was halfway consumed. James let out another noise. Thomas rolled his tongue on the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck, Thomas,” he breathed out. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes as Thomas worked him harder, pumping him with his hand quicker as his tongue wreaked havoc along his shaft. Then he would pull off, sucking hard, and then swallow James down again, going deeper each time.

James was reduced to a panting, hot mess of nerves by the time Thomas took him down completely. James felt Thomas’s throat opening around him, hot and wet and glorious, with just the barest touch of teeth. The quick rush of pleasure was almost too much and he gritted his teeth.

“Huuhh.”

He struggled to keep the inevitable at bay just a little while longer. It was pathetic how quickly he’d been pushed to the edge; he kept reminding himself how long he’d been deprived of everything.

Thomas shifted so he could glance up at James, blue eyes nearly black. James saw the lust heavy in his eyes. He hummed softly as he pulled off to swallow, then pushed in even closer to James, until his nose nearly touched the soft thick curls above his cock.

James gripped the arm of the divan with one hand and began gingerly thrusting into Thomas’s mouth. Thomas pulled off slightly, grabbing James’s bare thighs and pulling them forward.

“Thomas,” James warned in a short, clipped tone. His breath was coming in short bursts now and the heat deep within him was causing his cock to throb. Thomas moved his mouth quicker over his shaft, until James was pulling at Thomas’s hair and could no longer think straight. Then his orgasm spilled out of him and into Thomas’s waiting mouth. Thomas held onto him through it, pulling his mouth off so that when James looked down he could see Thomas catch the spurts of come that exited him.

When his climax finally ceased Thomas stood and James immediately pulled him into a deep kiss, breathless though he was. When Thomas pulled away he gave James a delighted grin.

“That was sufficient, I take it?” Thomas asked, as proper as ever.

James managed a grin as he tried to catch his breath and tucked himself back in.

“You and your fucking manners,” he said.

Thomas grinned wider.

“Lie with me?” he asked, glancing down at the divan, which was wide enough for two bodies.

Without hesitation this time James nodded. Thomas stretched out against the back of the sofa, relaxing and hiking a knee up to make space. James took off his boots and lay down in front of him, back pressed flush up against Thomas’s chest. At last, everything was as it should be between them.

His confidence boosted, James twisted to face him so he could broach the subject he’d been thinking about for the last several days.

“I think we should move to Nassau,” he said.

***

"Though here at journey's end I lie  
In darkness buried deep,  
Beyond all towers strong and high,  
Beyond all mountains steep,  
Above all shadows rides the Sun  
And Stars for ever dwell:  
I will not say the Day is done,  
Nor bid the Stars farewell."

~ J.R.R Tolkien, Journey's End


End file.
